


The Charmed and the Charming

by freudiancascade



Series: a softer red planet [1]
Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Established Relationship, I (like most of this fandom) am choosing to ignore key moments in Final Resting Place, M/M, jupeter, look -- maybe I don't want hurt/comfort ALL the time, maybe sometimes I just want two smartass idiots in love (with a side order of Meddling Rita)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-05
Updated: 2018-02-05
Packaged: 2019-03-13 21:16:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13579098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freudiancascade/pseuds/freudiancascade
Summary: There's three things that should be understood before mailing physical correspondence to the office of Juno Steel:1) Rita screens all the mail, no matter how large the block letters reading "PRIVATE" are on the front of the envelope, to avoid a repeat of the Letter Bomb Fiasco of '09;2) Rita does this task while watching her 11am soaps;3) Rita has never been able to resist doing her part to ensure that the course of True Love runs smooth.Unfortunately, Juno gave up trying to warn people about Rita years ago. Fortunately, Nureyev doesn't mind too much. After all is said and done, he might even find the outcome to be rather wonderful.





	The Charmed and the Charming

**Author's Note:**

> Blame @intrikate88, enabler supreme, for letting this ridiculous mess happen. And @mrslovelace for letting me wallow in delightfully tropey garbage. And also blame the West Wing clip where Margaret casually proposes a coup d'etat because she's "got the president's signature down pretty good." 
> 
> Let’s all face facts here: a coup d'etat of the heart is totally a thing Juno needs.

* * *

 

_Dearest Juno;_

  _I hope this letter finds you well. I wish I could think of you allowing yourself the time and space to heal, but I do believe I know you too well for that. You're probably already back out on the streets, trying to save the world and your city, and I know Hyperion has no idea how lucky it is. It gets to keep you close, and I admit I'm a bit jealous of it for that._

_The job offer that I told you about has taken me to Eloqua Major, a city made entirely out of glass and anchored in an endless ocean. The sky here is purple and too thick to allow most stream networks through, the people are unfailingly graceful and unfalteringly polite, and I admit that without my work to keep me busy I would be bored half to death. I may be the furthest thing from clumsy, but I've already broken several street signs, given myself an untold number of cuts and scrapes, and accidentally destroyed a priceless statue. Simply by being an off-worlder, I seem to have rendered myself a menace to society._

_(You needn't worry for me too much, however -- I don't anticipate this project giving me any trouble. I'll spare you the tedious details, as you requested, but you can rest assured that the task before me is well within my capabilities.)_

_Boring and hazardous as it may be, Eloqua is an exceedingly beautiful place. At dawn, the sunrise happens slowly and with purpose, light cascading and colliding into rainbow reflections on the surface of the waves until they are blurred pastel against the most distant horizon in the galaxy._

_It's the farthest landscape I can imagine from Mars. Naturally, I know that means you would either hate it viscerally, or fall immediately and madly in love._

_Someday, I want us to find out which it is together._

_Be safe, and I will, too._

_All my love,_

_Duke_

 

* * *

 

_My love;_

_My heart rejoices to hear from you again, dearest. And though we are a universe apart, I need only close my eyes and feel you here beside me. I’ve lived in this city for so long, my blood runs red with the songs of home. Still, casting my mind out among the stars to find you is the most exquisite of journeys, and one I never want to end._

_Take care of yourself, wherever you wander, and I’ll be waiting for you to return to my arms._

_Forever and always yours,_

_Juno_

 

* * *

 

     "Well," the thief named Peter Nureyev said to nobody in particular, " _that_ doesn't seem right at all."

     At the moment he was Elias Noble, a laboratory assistant for a distant arm of a pharmaceutical company that was in the process of developing a very interesting product based on a single, very dangerous sample. He had been hired by a man who was not actually royalty to steal that research, destroy any hope of reconstructing it, and make it look like an accident (at a handsome fee, of course). It really was just as well that Juno had insisted on not knowing a single thing about Nureyev's less-than-legal entanglements. The poor detective had already been through quite enough trauma -- Peter would happily handle this particular loose end for him, and Juno wouldn't even have to know a thing about it.

     He held the envelope up to his nose and gave it an experimental sniff, as though hoping to detect some clue wafting on the scent of the dried ink. Nothing -- well, nothing he didn't expect. The letter smelled like paper, mostly. A little bit of mildew, from a stint inside a transfer cube that perhaps hadn't been dried out completely after a routine cleaning. But beneath that, though he may have been imagining it, Peter thought he caught the scent of the plasma cartridges that Juno preferred to shoot with. They were the ones that Juno insisted were more precise than the standard issue, though Peter himself had never noticed much of a difference except in the detective's clever hands. It was a smell that clung to the detective's fingers and skin at all times, as ingrained in him as the smells of old coffee and city smog, a sharp and unique scent that reminded Peter of a lightning bolt tethered to the earth, all metal and electricity. Fitting, really, for a person named "Steel."

     The handwriting looked right, too. Matched every other sample Peter had been able to dig up. Too much pressure on the page, sharp edges to the letters and jagged points where they ended. The occasional wobble or flick on the paper, perhaps from a steady hand that still shook ever so slightly when its bearer was too far lost in thought or emotion. Not a pretty script, certainly nowhere near Peter's own elegantly flowing cursive (the thief was quite proud of his own handwriting), but still exceedingly legible.

     He flicked the paper open again and skimmed the letter again, frowning at it. "What _are_ you hiding?" he murmured at it. Knew better than to expect an answer, of course. He'd already checked for a number of chemical reactions, response to warmth and cooling, physically hidden messages, every code he had come across in a long and storied career of sneaking around beneath the noses of very clever and important people, and multiple kinds of invisible ink.

     For all intents and purposes, the correspondence did seem to be genuine. Which was...odd, to say the least.

     He snapped a quick picture of the letter, unwilling to part with the original, and uploaded it quickly to send to an expert in cryptography and forgeries. Lucia DeLucio was a delightful woman he'd crossed paths while working on an equally delightful art heist nearly five years ago and kept in vague contact with ever since. In addition to being exceedingly good at her job, she made a delicious chocolate bundt cake. Peter had been trying unsuccessfully to steal that recipe for years, but then, you always do pull your punches when sparring against friends.

     Or, at least, against the closest thing one had to friends in his line of work.

      _Lucia -- Is this real? Juno Steel, Hyperion City, P.I. Usual rates apply. -- Rex_

     Not even two full minutes later, a ping:

      _You got a detective on your ass? --L_

     Peter rolled his eyes, typed back quickly:

_In a manner of speaking. Time is of the essence with this one, I'm afraid. --R_

     He saw the read message pop up, hover there for a moment, and then the woman sent a quick response:

_double regular fee then. YOUR personal entanglement, not my problem. --L_

     Peter grit his teeth.

_Fine._

     Immediately, the screen pinged,

_Looks legit, see attached. think this one likes you! Creds better be there by morning. :)_

     "A smiley face. Charming," Peter said to the room, and flopped down on the bed in the most theatrical way he could manage. How odd. He seemed to have snagged himself, despite Juno's best efforts to present to the contrary, a closet romantic.

     Nureyev smiled slowly, despite himself. It was strange, definitely unexpected, but perhaps not unwelcome. The more he thought about it, the more certain he was that this was actually a wonderful turn of events. Juno had always had a knack with a turn of phrase -- for it to express itself like this, on paper, was so much better than he'd hoped.

     Writing back could wait until morning. For now it was time to compose himself, take one last breath before the breaking of the storm over his head, and complete the final preparations to make his move on the target.

     This was going to be a piece of cake. Chocolate bundt cake, even. He was certain of it.

 

* * *

 

_Dearest Juno;_

_If you've been paying attention to the news from this section of the galaxy, first, allow me to assure you that what happened was nowhere near as bad as it sounds in the reports. You know the media cycle and their hyperactive hounds well enough that I shouldn't even need to reassure you on that front. I am unhurt aside from, perhaps, a slightly bruised ego. And that, I intend to rectify soon enough. Again, I will spare you the details, but know that I am not concerned in the least._

_It lifted my spirits like you wouldn't believe, receiving your letter. I admit, I hadn’t expected you to have such a romantic streak. I confess myself touched — I hadn’t realized your feelings would make themselves known in such a way. Your affection means the world to me, Juno. Any number of worlds, in any number of galaxies._

_You know all you have to do is say the word, and we’ll be off to whichever one you want._

_Be safe, and I will, too._

_All my love,_

_Duke_

 

* * *

 

     Elias Noble was having a bad week.

     Seeing as he’d only existed for twenty-five days, seven hours, and thirty-two minutes, this wasn’t entirely a promising ratio. Peter Nureyev resolved to burn this alias as soon as he could, perhaps by having it fall into a decaying star. Faking the ship manifest on a doomed exploratory mission out past the Far Ring, maybe, as soon as the identity was no longer needed. Yes, that would suit nicely.

     He spat out a mouthful of blood and was grimly unsurprised to see a tooth fall into the sink along with it. A probing tongue revealed it to be the top right incisor, what a shame. Well, that was nothing that his usual dental surgeon couldn’t fix — he mentally scheduled in an appointment for some point in the near future. Wiped his face with a towel, wincing at the rough texture. Even the textiles on this godforsaken planet had thin ribbons of glass woven into them, slight and delicate as gossamer and nowhere near as soft. Staggered out into his hotel room, and poured himself a much-needed drink. There was planning to be done, and of course he’d have to double-check all the details when sober. This situation wasn’t beyond salvage, nowhere near. The data on the pill hadn’t made it off-world yet. He knew exactly where and how he was going to intercept and destroy it, actually. 

     For the moment, however, he just needed something to make the ringing in his ears subside.

     There was mail, sitting on the tray by the door. He scooped it up eagerly, sitting on the bed and flipping through. Another letter from Juno was exactly the balm his soul needed, after a day like this.

     Much to his delight, that was exactly what he got.

 

* * *

 

_My most treasured love;_

_To hear that you’re in danger runs my blood cold. I know your capable hands will keep you safe and deliver you back to me — still, I worry._

_When I think of you I imagine the clouds above a distant sky, and I the skyline anchored to the ground, the two always reaching for one another no matter what the heavens decree. There’s a million points of light between us, and I trace the shapes they make every time I remember your name._

_Yours until the end of time,_

_Juno_

 

* * *

 

     Peter Nureyev was putting the finishing touches on arranging for Elias Noble to take a very long one-way journey, nursing a glass of wine, and waiting for his favourite soap opera to start. In the morning, he’d be leaving Eloqua Major behind, and putting a job well-done in the rearview mirror with it. Finally, after everything, closing the door on that Martian tomb for good.

     He never thought he’d be in a position where he couldn’t wait to get back to Mars.

     For now, though, it was time for some much-needed self-care. It had been close to a month since he’d had the opportunity to catch up with _The Charmed and the Charming_ , streams on this planet always ran on a ridiculous delay due to some media mogul or other taking advantage of the tumultuous atmosphere and wringing the broadcast networks for every penny they were worth.

     It took a little bit to remember where he’d left off — these storylines were always so deliciously convoluted, and Peter settled back in the armchair to allow them to wash over his brain. It was nice, not having to think for a little bit.

     And then, a woman on screen said tearfully to her lover over the phone, “ _Although we are a universe apart, I need only close my eyes and feel you here beside me_!”

     Peter froze. Mentally reached back to the letter sitting folded in the breast pocket of his tailored suit jacket. Kept watching.

     And watching.

     And then Peter hit the pause button on the screen and picked up a comm. Dialled a number he’d memorized, spoke quickly, “Yes, hello, Juno, it’s me.”

     A door slamming, and then Juno’s voice came over the line — familiar, warm, just the right amount of husky, and oh heavens, Peter missed it. Right now it was spiked with worry, “What’s going on, Nureyev? Are you in da—“

     “No, nothing like that, I’m perfectly well. That wasn’t why I was calling.”

     “What is it, then?”

     “The letters you’ve been sending me. I happened to be sitting down to catch up on my soaps, and some of them sounded awfully familiar. Like the line _casting my mind out among the stars to find you is the most exquisite of journeys,_ for example.”

     “Nureyev, I have no idea what you’re talking about. Did you hit your head? Is there somebody in the room with you? Grunt once for yes, twice for no.”

     “Oh, don’t play coy, detective, it really doesn’t suit you.”

     "No, that literally wasn't -- oh. _OH_.” Juno groaned, low in his throat. “Nureyev, was this _soap opera,_ by any chance, a long-running Venetian period drama stream called _The Charmed and the Charming_?"

     "Why yes, actually. So you did --"

     " ** _RITA_**!"

     Peter jerked back from the comm, his ear ringing. 

     " _Whaaaaat_!?" was the response yelled back, no quieter for being in the distance. Juno pressed his end of the line to his chest as he opened his office door to yell out of it, but all it did was muffle the shouting match that ensued:

  _"WHAT THE HELL, RITA! THE MAIL—!?”_

_" — those gorgeous letters! I’m not going to apologize for SUPPORTING TRUE LOVE!"_

_"How about apologizing for committing mail fraud?! AGAIN!”_

_"Well, excuuuuuuse me, boss, for trying to look out for your emotional needs as well as the detective ones! It's not illegal if it's true love!"_

_"Oh yes it very much still is!"_

_"Well, you weren't gonna do anything about 'em, and I couldn't let such beautiful --"_

_"SO YOU RESPONDED BY FAKING MY SIGNATURE AND SENDING SOAP OPERA TRASH TO —!?”_

      _"Oh no, I've been faking all your handwriting for ages, don'tcha know that? I've been doing it for years on your doctor's forms, don't pretend you --"_

_"You've been WHAT?!"_

_"You never thought "hey, wow, wonder where those antibiotics on my desk came from, good thing I've got Rita looking out for me"!?!?"_

_"OF COURSE NOT, BECAUSE THAT'S CRAZY."_

_"NO BOSS, THE CRAZY PART IS THAT I GOTTA TIPTOE AROUND YOU TO DO THESE THINGS! AND THEN A PERFECTLY NICE GENTLEMAN STARTS SENDING YOU ALL KINDA TRUE LOVE LETTERS AND YOU CAN'T EVEN BE BOTHERED TO --"_

_"HOW WOULD YOU KNOW WHAT I'D HAVE BEEN BOTHERED TO DO, SINCE YOU DIDN'T EVEN GIVE THEM TO ME!?!"_

_"YEAH, THEY'D BEEN ANSWERED ALREADY, DIDN'T NEED TWO REPLIES! That happened on one of my streams once, they were both exchanging letters and then things got messed up midway through, and it turned out that once they straightened it out they -- well, and then the spiders attacked! And you wouldn't believe what happened after --"_

     Juno made a sound like he'd been punched in the gut, and then swore. Peter heard footsteps, and then the slamming of a door, and then more footsteps and the creak of a chair. Somewhere in the background, Rita was still rambling on, but now Peter couldn't make out her words. He'd long since dropped his head into his hands.

     Juno took one deep breath, and then another. Peter heard him take a sip of coffee, probably drinking more of that terribly bitter dark stuff out of that godawful chipped mug that really should have been replaced years ago. Made a mental note to get Juno a better coffee maker for the next reasonable holiday, and folded his legs beneath him on his own chair.

     "Are you alright, detective?"

     A long pause. Another breath in and out. 

     Peter waited patiently.

     "Nureyev. Let me get this straight. You saw that crap written down with your own two eyes,  _our souls are entwined like the starlight of a thousand galaxies,_ yadayadayada, and your first assumption _wasn't_ that I was tied up somewhere with a gun to my head?" The detective frowned. "That's -- bad, actually. I don't even have anything clever to say about that. It's just bad."

     "It did occur that it might have been less than legitimate. Possibly a trap. Naturally, I did my diligence."

     Juno's incredulous snort just left him choking on his coffee, setting the mug down firmly on his desk. "Less than -- oh, you think!?"

     Peter huffed. "I DO know forgeries very well, detective. I'd even say I'm more qualified to evaluate them than you are. Just to be certain, I even sent it to the best handwriting analyst west of Charon. When she said the letter was legitimate, I proceeded under that assumption."

     "You could have picked up a comm!"

     Peter gasped in mock horror. "And ruin the romance of an epistolary exchange? Never!"

     "Look. In the future, I don't know, just send postcards or something. Rita can cut out the pictures and make a collage for the waiting room, or whatever she's going to do. Give her a project so maybe she'll butt the hell out of my personal life."

     "And you, Juno? What would make you happy?"

     The detective drew in a sharp breath. Another long pause stretched between them. 

      Again, Peter waited. He had a strong suspicion that Juno didn't get asked that particular question very often, and resolved firmly to change that in the future. After all, he'd always been good at seeing bigger pictures and waiting patiently for the right opening to slip inside them. This was no different, really.

     Sure enough, Juno finally relented. "For you to get your melodramatic ass over here and tell me all about your travels in person."

     "I'm touched, detective. Perhaps we might make a romantic out of you after all."

     ".....Don't you dare tell me too much about the illegal parts, though. I really don't need that on my conscience. Or my legal culpability with the HCPD. God, they'd have a field day with this."

     "Oh, and there's the Juno Steel I know and love. You _are_ _e_ ver the pragmatist. And that wasn't actually in the letters, you know."

     "What?"

     " _Our souls are entwined like the starlight of a thousand galaxies."_ Peter paused, savouring the words on his tongue. _"_ It's a lovely sentiment, and I am afraid you came up with it yourself, just now."

     "....Oh. Oh, god damn it." It was Juno's turn to press his face into his own open palms.

     He could hear Peter's smile on the other end of the line, both smug and sharp. Even the mental image of it twisted at pleasant things in Juno's stomach. "I'll be seeing you soon, detective. Do stay safe, for me."

     Juno shifted his fingertips to support his chin, elbows on the desk in front of him. "You too, Nureyev. For me."

     They hung up without further goodbyes.

 

* * *

 

_Dearest Juno;_

_I'll be home soon. Business here has concluded without further incident, I was as successful as I always am, and it's time to be moving on. I'm writing this on a train out of Eloqua, and I'll mail it at the shuttleport before I leave this system. It seems to be a normal train, sadly; I don't believe any particular intrigue will find me on this particular track. Perhaps that's just as well. You and I have had our fill of trains for the next several years._

_The sun is setting, shooting purple and red through the skyline, and I must say I'm happy to be leaving at this time of day. It makes a voyage much more pleasant, having something beautiful to look at and something good waiting on the other end of the journey._

_I've enclosed the rest of the letters that Rita sent my way -- I believe they may be worth a laugh. Or, knowing you, perhaps worth a roll of the eyes and a rather stiff drink._

_Be safe, and I will, too._

_All my love,_

_Duke_

 

* * *

 

     Above the worn office door, the bell chimed.

     "The boss ain't in right now," the woman said from behind the desk, not looking up.

     Peter nodded -- he hadn't expected Juno to be present at this time of day. Besides, that wasn't why he was here. Not yet, anyways. Other business to handle first. 

     The thief extended his arm to offer a delicately fluted bottle of dark alcohol. "I am sorry, my dear. This is for you -- I never intended to get you in any kind of trouble with your boss, and wished only to make amends."

     Rita lifted a dark eyebrow and pursed her bright lips as she stared down the gift like it was an insult. "Oh, it's YOU! No, no way, no how, you didn't get me in nothin'!" She leaned in across the counter, hissing conspiratorially, "Frankly, I'm real glad you came along. Half the time, the boss doesn't know what's good for him. And the other half, he gets so up in his head that he knows full well and messes it all up anyways. But you -- now, you're a strange one, aren't you? The boss wasn't even gonna look you up at all, he's so head over heels, so I tried it."

     Peter inclined his head. "And what did you find?"

     "Well now. You're definitely not a Mista Glass, or a Duke of anything, or any other name I've been able to find, and oh boy, you've had a lotta names. Even Dark Matters wasn't able to crack you -- oh, they think they're so clever with their algorithms and encryptions, but they don't know what's really going on with nobody." The secretary sniffed in disdain.

     Peter was beginning to think that, just maybe, he'd severely underestimated Juno's secretary on multiple fronts. "Is that so?"

     "Abso-freakin-lutely. But let me tell you this, and this is just between the two of us, okay? See, when Mista Steel got those letters finally, he definitely put them in the top middle desk drawer. And they're still there, and everything! I checked this morning! He threw mine right in the trash, but kept every one of yours." Rita grinned, quick and bright and triumphant, and hopped down from her desk chair to circle the counter. "So that means that whoever you are, you're okay in my books."

     "Duke is fine," the thief said, not wanting to see how far the woman could go even with a lead as small and common as the name _Peter._ He hefted the wine bottle once more, "And what do you want me to do with this, then?"

     Now, Rita accepted the offering with a grasping hand. "Ooh, it does look real fancy. Wanna pop a seat and we can split it? _The Charmed and the Charming_ is just starting, I'll pause it and make popcorn and everything."

     "I'd like that very much, Rita," Peter acquiesced, and took a seat on the worn couch in the corner. "Though I'm afraid you'll have to catch me up over what I missed over the past week -- I've been a touch busy."

     "Oh, oh, you missed a good one! See, the heiress lady was going back to confront her twin about hiring that squid thingy to kill her, and then before she could get home, she --"

 

* * *

 

_N;_

_Message received. Travel safe. Rumour has it HCPD is planning something that will shut down the freeway out from the port for at least a week (terrible idea, but nobody asked me so I’m staying the hell out of it). Come in through Olympus Mons and catch a shuttle to the city from there instead._

_Don't do anything stupid, or anything so clever that you wouldn't want to try explaining it to me after it went wrong._

_I'll see you soon._

_\- JS_

 

* * *

 

     "Cracked the Avalos case, Rita! You were right, it DID all come back to the puppies!" came a familiar voice from the doorway. Juno sounded good, confident and _alive_ in a way that made Peter's chest grow tight. He continued on, stamping his feet on the threshold to clear mud from his boots, "Turns out the puppy mill was actually a front for -- oh."

     "Hello." 

     Juno stopped dead, staring at Peter for a long moment like he'd seen a ghost. Their eyes met. Juno swallowed, shuffled his feet. Tried to play dumb, probably for Rita's sake, bless him. "Office's closed for the night."

     Peter smiled, long and slow and sharp, and was satisfied by the flush of color that rose to the tops of Juno's cheekbones. "I think you know I'm not here on business, Juno. Rita was simply keeping me company until you arrived."

     Juno swallowed, and turned to shrug out of his faded trench coat. "So much for loyalty, Rita?" the detective said, hanging the garment on the hook by the door and trying to cross past them to his office. 

     "Oh, for heaven's -- come here, boss!" As he tried to squeeze past them, Rita grabbed Juno by the back of his shirt and pulled him into taking a seat sandwiched between herself and Peter on the couch. Nureyev reached an arm up and dropped it across the detective's shoulders as soon as Juno was within striking range, making satisfied eye contact with Rita across the back of Juno's head. 

     "I do believe, detective, we've got you trapped until at least the next commercial." Peter squeezed Juno's hand and brushed a kiss to the back of his knuckles. On his other side, Rita nestled in like a satisfied hen.

     Juno blanched, visibly not sure how to handle physical affection from two people at the same time. It fascinated Nureyev: he'd seen Juno stare down unspeakable horror with an unflinching determination more times than he could count, but the simple thought of watching a show with friends after a long day's work apparently scared the lady half to death.

      _We'll have to see what we can do about that_ , he thought, and laced his fingers between Juno's own. Juno curled his fingers around Peter's hand automatically; they tensed for a moment as Juno became aware of them, and then relaxed as Peter gently swirled a thumb over the heel of Juno's palm. Beside them, Rita prattled away, trying to introduce a decade's worth of character arcs and plot development in the span of a couple sentences -- oddly enough, Juno seemed to follow her fragmented thoughts well enough, asking questions and offering snide remarks. It seemed to help him relax a little more, too. After a couple minutes Juno pressed his forehead into Peter's shoulder and took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of his cologne. Peter could feel the tension leaving him slowly, shoulders unwinding like a spring.

     And, surprising them both, the detective didn't leave at the first opportunity. 

     "She's cheating on her wife," Juno announced when the show opened on a woman in a sunlit bedroom after the third commercial. 

     "Well obviously she's cheating on her, Mista Steel, haven't you been paying attention to anything I've been trying to tell you about --"

     "No, she's sleeping with the -- whatever it is, with the tentacles, you'll see."

     Rita gasped, "Really!? No, no way, I don't believe it! You'll see how wrong you are, boss."

     "That _is_ quite a hunch. How do you know that, Juno?" Peter asked, eyes twinkling. 

      Rita shushed him with a sharp gesture, her wine sloshing over the edge of her glass and into Juno's lap. On-screen, the door to the impeccably-styled bedroom opened with a swell of music and the tentacled alien assassin strutted in wearing an implausible set of lingerie. Rita cried out in disbelief, throwing a handful of popcorn at the screen.

      And Nureyev beamed at Juno with genuinely honest pride, while the detective swore and mopped up the drink Rita had spilt on him.

     See, it was all a very good start. And for now, a very good start was more than good enough. Juno Steel was still a mystery, and perhaps he always would be, but Peter was thrilled to be playing detective in his own right to try and figure it out. Maybe he would get it wrong, sometimes. Maybe this was a case he would never solve -- not entirely.

     But that wasn't a bad thought.

     It was actually, if he allowed his mind to wander down that particular path, a possibility much more beautiful than any number of love letters or cities made of glass.

     Maybe, after all these years, Peter Nureyev had finally come home.


End file.
